


Practical Studies

by headraline



Series: Detroit: Become Human Prompts [10]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: First Kisses, Fluff, Funny, I blame this entirely on Celi, I legit wrote this while having breakfast, M/M, and the whole of the RK1K discord, crack? Kinda?, idk but don't take this seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 16:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: “I’m an artist, every time I look at something, I am studying it.”“Really?” [...] “And what do you think you’re studying right now?”





	Practical Studies

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly a prompt, but anyone who's on the discord server will know.
> 
> Celi, this goes out to you.
> 
> The next chapter of walls is coming soon, I just gotta take a break to do my chors and stuff before I can start writing again.  
> ......I don't even know what this is. Just take it. XD

“So, the main difference you have to remember between the Romantics and the Realists is that the former weren’t that concerned with properly recreating reality as much as they were about making an emotional interpretation of it, getting a reaction out of the observer…” Markus is not even really looking at the art history book he’s carrying, as he walks around his students all already sitting behind their easels, waiting and eager to practice, the little shits –apparently college students can and will get giggly like middle schoolers at the prospect of painting with a model. “The Realists instead, they cared about representing reality in a way that would make the observer aware and awake to the world’s many flaws –many Realist pictures are either jarringly depressing or very political –think of the Millet Cleaners and compare it to the Young Ladies of the Village and you have a perfect upper class/oppressed people contrast… Romantic paintings, instead, often have a fantastic element taking you away from every day’s reality… Saturn, Medusa, the Incubus…”

One of the students raises her hand. “Sir? Was there no middle ground between the two schools of thought?”

Would you look at that. Someone actually paying attention— no he mustn’t be unfair, his students are actually quite chill; and most of his lessons end up in friendly anecdotes. “Well…” he tilts his head and looks at the ceiling, pretending to think about it, “Impressionists, in a sense. But those guys were usually high.”

Laughter rings through the class and it’s only interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Ah, this must be our model.” Markus says, taking off his glasses and putting away the book back on the desk, “I want you all on your best behaviour –this is a college art class. Not primary school.”

The idea of nude painting is embarrassing for most people, hence why one hires professional models for it and books slots of several hours to make people get acquainted with the idea of it and still leave them enough time to actually sketch something. “Luther, you’re—” But when he opens the door, it’s not his friend Luther at all –it’s the cute librarian that he can’t ever quite bring himself to ask out. “—oh. Hey, Connor…”

Quite a few heads turn to sneak a peek at the librarian in question –Connor is quite popular among the students, both for his looks and the way he always manages to find what everyone is looking for, even the things no one else can find. He’s also an extremely intelligent individual with a dry and razor-sharp sense of humor if you know how to bring it out, and Markus may or may not have a _gigantic_ crush on him. “Hello, professor.”

“Please, just Markus, I’ve told you so many times.” He isn’t that older than the librarian after all, and that level of deference both makes him uncomfortable and gives him thoughts not suited to a classroom –not to mention that the other’s insistent formality gives Markus the impression that they’re not close, even as he _knows_ Connor does it exactly to piss him off. They’ve had this exact conversation for almost two years, and the script is always the same.

“Markus, then.” There it is. The other corrects himself with a smile, before cleaning his throat somewhat uncomfortably. The two have a quick hushed conversation that the students can’t quite hear, but not 10 seconds in their teacher’s voice involuntarily rises:

“What do you mean, _cancelled_?”

Connor is terribly contrite about it, but he’s just the messenger: “He called reception a few minutes ago, apparently there was a family emergency and he had to rush to the hospital.”

Markus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath –the following exhale is halfway between a sigh and a growl but it’s not like he can really get mad about it. Actually, he’ll have to phone him after class to make sure Kara and little Alice are alright. He smiles. “Thank you for telling me, Connor, I appreciate that.”

From behind them, someone raises their hand. “So… does that mean we can go early?”

Markus loves his students and likes to consider himself a pretty laidback teacher, but he has this classroom booked for four hours and the next slot available is in six weeks. These guys have a practical test pending in four. “Not on your lazy little lives.” He replies, easily stepping into the middle of the classroom where the chair for the model had been prepared. “Luckily, we _do_ have a way to not lose this timeslot.”

“But you always say we can only ever paint with a professional mo—” words stop forming on the young lady’s mouth when all of them notice Markus shrugging off his sweater.

“Yes. And how do you think I paid for my Arts degree? I’ve done this for the better part of four years. I’m not going to excuse _anyone_ trying to shirk their duties on painting.” The professor says, tone going stone-cold in a rare bout of seriousness, “Now. This is unorthodox because I’m also your teacher, but rules apply: _best. Behaviour._ Once I sit in that chair, no one will talk to me; there’ll be no questions, no funny little jokes, no use of cell phones or other devices. Clear?” The t-shirt comes off next, and someone can be heard clearing their voice from the door.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you to your class, then.”

Markus whips his head around so fast his students have to struggle to rein in the giggles. “Yes. Please.” He says, giving his librarian friend the best smile he can muster up while standing shirtless in front of his entire classroom and undoing his belt, “Also, if you could pretend none of this ever happened so I don’t get fired, you’d really be doing me a solid.”

Connor chuckles, though he has to avert his eyes –he always could tell Markus was a good-looking man but there’s a line in professional relationships and watching your colleague take his clothes off is _definitely_ past that line. Still… wow. “Realistically, you wouldn’t get fired… there’d be an investigation, and possibly a disciplinary hearing, but I’m sure you—”

“Connor.” Markus interrupts, with a firmness that makes him instantly shut up.

“Y-yes?”

“Class? Practice?” the sound of the professor’s belt sliding out of the jeans hoops is disproportionately loud. Connor blames the stone walls rather than the blood rushing around in his ears and then headed downwards _fast_ , “If you want to stay so much, you’re gonna have to sit and pick up a brush.” This time, _some_ laughter breaks out as the mortified librarian excuses himself, prompting Markus to almost yell: “ _What_ did I just say? Take this seriously, guys. This was not intended to be a graded exercise— _don’t_ make me change my mind.”

Promptly, all laughter ceases and the students gather up their supplies while Markus finishes undressing and sits on the chair like Auguste Rodin’s [Thinking Man](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d3/fd/45/d3fd45a32a35a7a8a04ccc228b6b0262.jpg). They all love having Markus as a professor, he’s gentle and laid back; and he’s always available to help them with what they don’t understand, but he takes the craft very, very seriously, so they know not to mess around when he gets serious.

The following four hours are spent in near-total silence with only the sound of carbon pencils and brushes to fill the classroom. It’s a bit frustrating because he can't walk around the easels giving pointers and helping out, but he can ask the students to bring their canvases next week and make a brief review.

When the clock finally strikes five p.m., he sighs and sits up a bit, rolling his sore shoulders. “Ok guys, as you were. Go get some rest, and something to eat, you haven’t had a break since noon.” He stands up and pointedly ignores some of the students whispering among themselves as he puts his clothes back on, “Hopefully you remembered this was an _anatomy_ exercise and focused on the right things…” it was actually the reason he wanted Luther to be the model specifically –muscle shape and definition were to be the focus of the class, and Luther is freaking huge, perfect model for an anatomy lesson. But one works with what they have. “Those who didn’t get to use the oils; you can take your canvases home. Those who did; put ‘em against the back wall to dry.”

The class splits into groups accordingly; and, much to Markus’ chagrin, several of the female students can’t quite look at him without giggling or blushing. Hopefully it’ll pass soon enough –they’re all adults after all.

Finally, blessedly alone, Markus sits on the chair again, this time fully dressed and leaning all the way back against the head-rest. Of all the idiotic displays of unprofessional behaviour, Connor had to see him _undressing_ in front of his students.

His lessons already have a reputation for being unorthodox, but this is a new record, even for him.

A small smile finds its way to his face –it’s part of how Connor caught his eye, initially: the librarian’s very logical, no-nonsense type of attitude clashed a lot with Markus’ more bohemian and lax behaviour… their first meeting was Connor stepping out of the library and into the art classroom to reprimand Markus about playing orchestra music loud enough that it could be heard three rooms over as he tried to get his students to ‘draw what the music made them feel’.

Admittedly, it was a spur of the moment thing and he had gotten slightly carried away with it –Connor’s face was still adorable, even though the change in expression at not being taken seriously hit Markus like a cold shower; he would forever remember the moment the polite, almost doe-eyed librarian turned into a steel-faced asshole who wouldn’t hesitate to punch him in the face.

Needless to say, Markus found himself very intrigued, both as an artist and as a person. At first, he started going out of his way to find little things that would piss Connor off, to try and get reactions out of him, then the librarian caught onto his little game and started responding in sass instead.

No one had ever made Markus speechless in under three sentences, and he got even more hooked on the brilliant post-graduate working the college library to pay for his master’s in Criminology.

Now, he’s pretty sure they’ve been tip toeing about a certain _something_ , lurking just under their skin, for the better part of this school year. A little voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like his friend North’s, tells him he knows exactly what that something is and he just doesn’t have the balls to seize it.

He stands up to gather his things, and sees the library’s copy of History of Modern Art from the 700s to the early 900s sitting innocently on the desk. Usually he just leaves the books he takes around for Connor to go crazy trying to find –another thing the librarian used to absolutely loathe him for, before making it a game between the two of them—

But hey. Maybe today is the day he actually brings something back.

He puts his glasses back on, even though he only really needs them for reading and painting: there are perks to teaching to a bunch of late teens and early 20s: the words _‘hot art teacher’_ get tossed around enough for Markus to know where his strengths lie –no time like the present after all. However mortifying today was, he saw the look on Connor’s eyes. He definitely has a chance.

 

“Is the art classroom on fire?” is the first thing Connor says when he sees Markus approach _his_ desk, for a change. He is still not quite over the sight of the man undressing under his –and twenty-four more people’s— eyes, but he’ll be damned if he gives any indication of how affected he actually was.

“Nah. Oh it was a close thing, but nothing _actually_ caught on fire,” Markus bites at his lower lip, winking from behind his glasses, and Connor feels like punching him in the face for it. This guy should be illegal to look at. “I’m really here to bring this back.”

Somehow, Connor sincerely doubts that’s what the art professor has actually come down to do, considering his terrible track record with putting things back in their proper place. “What, no ulterior motive, this time?” he asks, leaning ever-so-slightly forward from behind the counter –two people can play this game. “Should I expect a smoke bomb?”

“You wound me.” Markus says, not quite able to keep his eyes from flicking down to Connor’s lips.

It’s more of a reaction than the librarian had hoped for. He barely bites back his smirk. “Well. Browsing hours are over, so unless you have something really important to study, you can kindly get out of here.”

Markus doesn’t falter, bracing both hands against the desk instead. “I’m an artist, every time I look at something, I _am_ studying it.”

“Really?” Connor holds the professor’s mismatched gaze with a challenging stare of his own –however hard it is to look into _those_ eyes and not get lost— “And what do you _think_ you’re studying right now?”

It’s there. It’s on a silver platter; this is his _one_ chance to actually be smooth about this and not the complete disaster he usually turns into every time Connor is involved. It’s not the first time they blatantly flirt on school grounds, but usually by this time Markus has always found a way to make a complete idiot out of himself.

He turns briefly to look around –it _is_ actually pretty late in terms of library hours, and the place is deserted.

“An easy answer would be… classical anatomy.” Surprisingly, Markus breaks eye-contact first, but Connor still feels like he’s the one who lost the battle, as the other’s eyes roam over him in a way that makes him feel like he could combust any moment. Then it happens: the art teacher brings up a hand and lightly touches Connor’s cheekbone as he carries on in whispers. “Facial symmetry.” The tips of his fingers trace Connor’s features on one side, then move to the other to describe the same exact arc, before sliding down to brush a thumb over his lower lip, “Beauty, in its most organic form.”

There’s probably something like twenty witty replies Connor could throw at Markus to make fun of him, but they’re all caught in his throat under the pressure of those eyes and the touch of those hands –rough and calloused, an artist’s hands no doubt, but ever so gentle in their approach. He takes a breath and feels it tremble. “…and?” he manages to ask, “Anything more I can do to facilitate your _study_?”

The question he normally asks students over and over with almost mechanical politeness now sounds like dirty talk, when asked to Markus.

Then again, most things could turn into dirty talk in the presence of Markus Manfred.

Good _God_.

“Funny you should ask—” that’s it, that’s all the warning Connor gets before Markus leans forward and catches his lips in a kiss, the hand that was on his cheek moving to clasp behind the nape of his neck and keep him there.

Not that Connor would go anywhere else right now. Sweet, merciful God, this is actually happening. Connor feels Markus bite at his lower lip slightly and smiles into the kiss –he knew the man had some type of oral fixation the moment he saw the little dents in most of his brushes, and _oh_ , does that make him all the more delicious— he opens his mouth willingly, letting the artist go on with his exploration and deepening the kiss.

His hands fly up to grab at Markus’ shoulder, now if only wasn’t for this stupid desk between them—

Shit.

The desk.

He violently pulls the other away. “Markus, wait—” he has to draw from all his self-control when Markus leans forward still, eyes half-lidded as he tries to chase his lips, “We’re at the front desk, anyone can walk in!”

Reluctantly, the teacher takes a step back. “Is that the only problem you have with this?” it takes a moment for Connor to register what exactly Markus is asking. He shouldn’t encourage this. By all means, it’s a terrible idea, a breach of policy and he’s technically _still on the clock_. But there’s a fire in Markus’ eyes that makes Connor wants to say yes to all of his dumb, outlandish ideas— always so enticingly wild and careless, so different from his own rigid and calculated way of living, and so, so inviting…

“…yes.”

“Good.”

Markus walks around the counter in three quick strides and wastes even less than that to grab Connor at the waist and shove him behind the huge bookshelf situated to the side of it. “Problem solved.” He whispers against Connor’s skin as he goes for the neck.

“That’s not a solutio—” his words break into a moan when he feels Markus bite down and the other’s hands go to work loosening his tie and popping open shirt buttons. They can get into so much trouble if they get caught, but _fuck_ this feels too good.

And he’d be lying if he said a good part of the thrill wasn’t precisely the risk of getting caught. His hands move from where they had instinctively grabbed at Markus’ forearms and go rest behind the other’s back –it feels downright heavenly to suddenly have him under his fingertips… fuck university protocols he’s not going to pass this up. “For the record, I’m blaming you entirely for this.” He says, trying not to feel like a huge hypocrite as his hands slide under Markus’ sweater to bunch it up and pull it over his head.

For his part, Markus obediently lets himself be undressed, before leaning forward again, until he’s touching noses with Connor. “Duly noted.” He whispers, smiling that wild smile of his that promises trouble and other such wonderful things, “Now kiss me again.”

Connor is more than happy to chase said trouble with his lips.

A stack of books falls to the floor when Markus slams Connor against the shelves again to finish ripping his clothes off him.

And to think, some people still believe being a librarian is boring.

“Markus— _ah—_ ”

…well, their loss.


End file.
